


Good with Their Hands

by Franzeska



Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan
Genre: Fanfiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:51:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franzeska/pseuds/Franzeska





	Good with Their Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lexie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexie/gifts).



"Besides, as much as I love this elf, I'm going _crazy_ in that safe house." Blitz's hands were warm and very soft--not heavily callused like a normal dwarf blacksmith's would be.

The ball of cold was forming in Hearthstone's stomach again. In his mind's eye, he saw Magnus on fire. Magnus stood next to him, but he wouldn't be so lucky a second time. He had failed before, and the taste of failure came up in his throat, sour and stale. He saw Blitz bleeding out again and again and again. Sometimes, it was a gunshot wound; sometimes, a knife. Asleep, awake, the images came, and the runes never varied. No matter how many times he cast them, all they would say was _Blitzen. Bloodshed. Cannot be stopped._

Hearthstone pulled away. _I can read lips, remember?_ he signed. But he lost the argument, as usual.

Blitz's words rattled around in his head, surprisingly pink lips forming the syllable over and over. _Love?_ Perhaps, but said so casually, and out loud, not for his eyes.

 _Blood River_ said the runes around the coffin. More words to taunt him.

When it was over, and he had failed again, Hearthstone sat and looked at Blitz's face in the sunlight. He was twisted with pain, frozen in his death throes. His blood stayed wet, staining the floor in a vast pool around them, smearing on Hearthstone's clothing. And in the end, all his knowledge of runes had done was let him fear impending disaster. He hadn't averted it, hadn't delayed it, hadn't even thought to open the roof.

Blood river. Cannot be stopped. As much as I love this elf. Around and around and around.

He started.

Blitz was standing next to him, one hand on his arm. _Penny for your thoughts?_ he signed.

_Nothing good._

Beyond Blitz's windows, streetlights glittered in the perpetual dwarvish darkness. Hearth drifted over to look at the view. Below him, other dwarves passed in the street, shopping, raising a hand in greeting. Busy. Normal.

The ambient temperature was, as always, neutral and spring-like: warm enough to be comfortable, cool enough to facilitate the wearing of multiple layers--specifically vests. Blitz did so hate to sweat through his shirts.

Hearthstone felt the dwarf come up behind him, a growing sensation of warmth in the cool room, like a miniature sun dawning. He shivered.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong?"

At least, that's what Hearthstone imagined he had said. He only caught the tail end of it as Blitz turned him around so they were face to face.

_Talk to me, buddy._

Hearth shrugged.

 _Come eat._ Blitz steered him towards the table. _You're white as a sheet._

_Ha ha ha._

He sat, or collapsed, into a chair. A superlative chair, no doubt. He'd known the provenance and names of all of Blitz's furniture before, but the only thing he could bring to mind now was that this place no longer felt like home. Midgard was that now.

 _Do you miss it here?_ he asked when Blitz turned back from the stove.

"Miss it?"

_Always being able to go out. Nighttime all the time. No light._

_Do you miss it being daylight all the time?_

_It's different for me._

Blitz glanced over at the tanning bed.

_Not that different. Now eat something before you fall over._

He picked at the food. It was some sort of root vegetable stew. Blitz's kitchen wasn't exactly well stocked. They rarely stopped in here. Things were too busy in Boston.

Blitz tapped on the table to get his attention. _You know the good thing about a prophecy?_ he asked. _When it's done, it's done._

_It should never have happened._

Blitz rolled his eyes. _It was fate, apparently. Now_ you _on the other hand…_ He got up. _If you're not going to eat your dinner, at least let me look at your wound._

_I am fine. Magnus took care of it._

Blitz hustled him into the bedroom anyway. _Let me see,_ he said, and Hearthstone pulled his shirt over his head. 

His side felt fine--good, even. Magnus had talent. He got a look at it, a faint, shiny, purplish patch on his white skin. His scars were always ugly when they healed. Not like Blitz's. Only a tiny white mark remained as a sign of the mortal wound.

Blitz looked up suddenly. _What are you thinking about_ now _you crazy elf?_

_My fault._

"Like Helheim!" _How do you think_ I _felt when we got back and I saw…_ His fingers ran over Hearth's side.

_It could have been worse._

"Well, _I_ didn't know that!"

Blitz's full length mirror was on the wall opposite. There were more in his closet--the clotheshorse--but he'd placed one here too, just in case he needed to re-check an outfit on the way out the door. (There was another near the front door to the apartment, naturally.) The two of them made a beautiful tableau against the purple duvet. (Or 'aubergine' as Blitz would no doubt call it.) Light and dark. Elf and dwarf.

_I like it in Midgard. Day and night._

Blitz looked at him curiously.

_You really don't miss home?_

_Silly elf: home is where_ you _are._

Blitz mumbled something to himself. Hearthstone thought again how odd it was that his lips were so pink.

 _Hearth, I…_ "Um…" He rose.

It was a high bed. Their faces were almost at a level. He only had to tilt his face up a little. Blitz leaned in.

He let Blitz explore his lips, holding his breath.

Blitz pulled back, looking nervous. "Is this okay? Are you okay?"

Hearth smiled at him. _I am okay._

"Do you want to… um…" Was he blushing? He was! And mumbling something impossible to lip read.

 _I am deaf,_ said Hearth innocently. _You'll need to give me a_ hands on _explanation._

"Very funny."

_I thought Dwarves were supposed to be good with their hands._

_Was that a challenge?_

Hearth raised an eyebrow.

\--

Dwarves, as it turned out, were _very_ good with their hands. And words. Only one was running around in his brain when he finally dropped off to sleep, and--for once--it wasn't 'blood'.


End file.
